


Pretty Fate Machine

by revhale



Category: Original Work
Genre: Asian, Asian-American Character, Brainwashing, Corruption, F/M, Hypnotism, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Mystery, Reluctant, bimbo, bimbofication, stepfordization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:29:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27812317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revhale/pseuds/revhale
Summary: Ryan and Naomi are finally done with High School. It would be an ideal summer romance, if only Naomi could escape the shadow of her vapid mother.Fate and family will try to change their future, even as they search for answers that may save them.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	1. Pretty Fate Machine - June 1999

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published as Movie Night on The Erotic Mind Control Archive.
> 
> Concept graciously provided by VoidGolem
> 
> Special thanks to Lilith Hale for her support and inspiration

We were alone in her bedroom, and I was trying very hard not to read into that.

Naomi was hot. Her black hair was shoulder length, with a subtle blue streak she’d dyed in for graduation. Though she didn’t show it off, it was impossible not to see she’d inherited her mother’s curves and flawless features.

Naomi was intelligent. She’d been accepted into an Ivy when we’d started dating, and her name was always on the short list for valedictorian.

Naomi was cool. She listened to cool bands like the Pixies. She looked bad-ass, with unquestionably more fashion sense than the average Ohio suburban teenager. Not quite ‘grunge,’ not quite ‘emo’... she could just rock a leather jacket and eyeliner.

But more than anything right now, Naomi was upset.

“My mother’s awful! She never takes anything I do seriously.”

Naomi paced the room, eyes still a bit red. She’d stopped crying by the time I’d arrived, but a couple of sniffles and the slight streak of makeup gave it away immediately.

“Well, that’s not true. She liked when I joined track, though she was pissed it wasn’t  _ cheerleading _ .” There was a slight sneer in her voice.

It was difficult to picture Naomi with pom-poms, cheering at a pep rally. To be clear, she was in great shape and definitely had the body, with her ripped jeans and—not that I’d ever tell her—her figure.

“Did I ever tell you what my mother did the day of the SAT? She scheduled us a spa day! I had been talking about it all week, but first thing Saturday morning…”

She put a hand on her (not insignificant) hip, flipped her hair and puckered her lips. “ _ Naomi, you no need to take this Es-Ay-Te. _ ”

I winced. Even if it was dead accurate, it still made me uncomfortable when Naomi imitated her mother’s heavy accent.

The first time I saw Naomi’s mother, it was actually at a cross-country meet. Some random, impossibly fit woman, cheering and bouncing up and down in a tight blue dress. Who wears a dress like that to Bedford High School on a weekend? Mrs. Junko Walcott, that’s who.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out who she was rooting for. Naomi was one of maybe six non-white students in our class. Even if the Asian MILF in the stands hadn’t been screaming her name, there was no way for Naomi to hide from the ridiculous woman.

I didn’t really know Naomi back then, and it was another year before the awkward blind date at prom. When we made out on the couch and somehow, impossibly, started dating. I’d had no doubt it wasn’t going to last past the summer, just a post-senior-year fling before we went to our respective schools in the fall.

“And now, even after I somehow made it into Brown, I’m going to lose my registration because she’s too busy to help me file the paperwork! She’s dropping Kat off at summer camp, then she’s at the gym...”

So we were alone in her bedroom, with no parent coming back for hours… I shifted slightly on her bed, trying to focus on the issue at hand—trying not to think with my dick, which was shamefully difficult to do.

“Ryan… I’m sorry, I didn’t want to drag you into this.” She flopped down next to me and gave me a hug. “My mother has always been a shitty mom; I shouldn’t let her get to me. I should know better.”

“No, it’s fucked up,” I assured her. “I can’t imagine my parents… anyone’s parents blowing off their kid like that. My dad threw a party when I got into State.  _ State _ .”

She sighed. “I really don’t know how I can be so different from my mother. She’s such an airhead! Ugggh!”

“Forget her,” I said, trying to sound confident. “We can do this. I’ll help you.”

She looked up with the first smile I’d seen since I arrived. “Seriously? You’re ok with spending the day helping your girlfriend fill out forms? I don’t even know where half the stuff I need is...”

“It’s cool. I know someone really smart who can help.” I leaned in and stage-whispered, “She got into  _ Brown _ .”

Naomi laughed and kissed my cheek.

…

“Ever notice how attics are always creepy?” I mused, watching the dust motes float past the single skylight across the ceiling.

“I don’t think it’s creepy.” Naomi was squatting in front of a locked filing cabinet, squinting in the dim light. Her father had left her the keys to his office in case there was an emergency.

“Come on, it’s a bit creepy. It’s super quiet. Barely any windows. It’s….” I searched for the word. “Isolated. Really, creepily isolated.”

“That’s how my dad likes it.” Naomi looked up and shrugged. “He’s barely home these days, setting up the international office or whatever. When he is home, he works up here. I kinda like it.”

“And why doesn’t your mom have a copy of the key?” I asked, flicking the light switch idly. The bulb was burnt out, but I wasn’t surprised no one had changed it. A thin layer of dust covered the whole room; it had been months since Mr. Clark Walcott had been home.

Naomi let out a snort at my question. “I’m surprised my dad trusts her to drive. He loves her, but I don’t think he’d ever call her ‘responsible.’”

“And it’s ok that you’re rooting through his stuff?” I lightly tapped her leg with my toe.

She swatted my foot away and looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Why would he care?”

“I mean, he’s a guy…” I was beginning to regret the question. “He could have stuff. You know, private stuff.”

“You mean porn?” She pointed at me with a smirk. “Are you seriously worried that we’ll find a bunch of Playboys? You’re turning red, you know that?”

I buried my head in my hands. “No, no. I just meant private stuff, ya know… Like…”

She fell back gently on the ground, sitting, looking at me with a bemused grin. “Like what?”

“Like…” I shrugged sheepishly. “Like… porn?”

She shook her head and turned back to the cabinet.

“I think we’ll be ok. Not everyone’s a pervert, you know.”

“I’m never going to live this down, am I?” I asked softly.

“You know, I always suspected you were a pervert. My mother always says, ‘He such a nice boy!’ But I know the truth.”

Mercifully, her attention was broken with a click from the cabinet.

“Finally…” Naomi slid the heavy drawer out. “Ok, mister privacy, what do we need?”

I cleared my throat and pulled out a checklist from my back pocket.

“One: immunization records.”

Naomi flipped through the files. “Got it.”

“Two: social security card.”

She dug around more, peeking through the dozens of manila envelopes in the drawer. “Check.”

“Three: proof of health insurance.”

More digging. “Umm…” she bit her lip. “Crap. Don’t see it.”

“Could it be up there?” I gestured to the top drawer.

“Good point.” Naomi stood up and brushed off the dust from her jeans. She untied the flannel around her waist the threw it on the office chair next to her. As I watched her stretch, her breasts pushing out her grey tank... I couldn’t help but gape a bit.

“Hey, focus!” she teased, smiling. “See what I mean? Total pervert!”

I threw my hands up, palms out, in mock protest. “Totally focused!”

“Sure, sure...” She continued searching in the cabinet. “Damn, this just looks like my mom’s paperwork.” The folders she was pulling out definitely looked older, some starting to yellow a bit.

“Is there any place else it could be?” I leaned in, looking over her shoulder. “Wait, what was that big one?” I pointed to a larger file sticking out slightly. There was a bright red “CONFIDENTIAL” stamp on the top.

“Which one? I don’t see anything.” Naomi ran her fingers down the rows of papers, skipping right past it.

“This one…” I reached past her, pulling at it. It caught briefly as I realized it was stapled to a thick manila folder right behind it. It took two hands to get the whole thing out.

Holding it in front of Naomi, she squinted at it, almost right through it. She blinked and shook her head. “Huh, that was strange. I totally missed it. Kinda hard to spot, right?”

“I mean, not really. It’s got the big red mark on it…” I replied with a raised eyebrow.

She shrugged, taking it from me. The whole bundle was easily two inches thick. Whatever text had accompanied that warning stamp had long faded, leaving just the slightest blue-grey discoloration on the off-white page.

Naomi didn’t hesitate to open it, sliding the contents gently onto the floor. We both looked down at the pile to see Naomi’s mother’s face staring back up at us from a newspaper clipping.

It wasn’t the picture itself that was so shocking, though it was strange to see Junko in a full business outfit, looking professional and confident. No, what made both of us stunned was the headline above:

_ Local Teen Wins National Honors _

“Is that… is that real?” I said, genuinely confused.

“It can’t be.” Naomi gently lifted the paper, maybe just to confirm it wasn’t a hallucination. Below was another clipping. No picture, but her mother’s name was highlighted. The story was about a group called the Young Business Women of America.

Naomi scooped up the whole stack and began setting each layer aside.

“So many articles…” she muttered. I watched Naomi unfold her mother’s life in reverse. Articles, report cards, certificates, and...

“Your mother has a degree in English?!” I practically shouted, gaping at the unfolded paperboard. The crease from being shoved in the envelope propped it up like a shallow tent above this surreal tapestry.

Naomi didn’t respond. Instead, she started flicking through the papers faster and faster. They blurred in front of us, too much to take in at once.

At the last document, Naomi stopped.

“What the fuck…” she muttered. “Ryan… My mother… She’s....”

I leaned forward and looked over her shoulder. In her hands was a birth certificate for Madeline Junko Yamashita, born January 15th, 1964. In Portland, Oregon.

“My mother’s from Japan.” She said it as a matter of fact. “And Junko is her first name, not Madeline. And… and… she never went to college.”

“Ryan…” Naomi turned to me wide-eyed. “This can’t be my mother, can it?”

…

After what seemed like hours of discussing possibilities, we finally started digging further back in the cabinet. The insurance records we were looking for were long forgotten; we needed answers.

That’s how we found the VHS tape.

It was sandwiched in the back, behind old tax filings and business receipts. The label had faded, but the title was still clear and legible:

_ CLARK WALCOTT — PROGRAM 235 — SUBJECT M.J.Y. _

I didn’t even ask Naomi if we should watch it. After arguing through every possibility from long-lost twin sisters to pod people, I knew there was no way she wasn’t seeing what was on the tape.

Mr. Walcott had a small TV with a built-in VCR squeezed on a desk, half hidden behind an ancient word processor. I slid the keyboard aside, wiped the dust from the screen and slipped the tape in.

Naomi chewed her hair idly, which struck me as out of character. But then I’d never seen her this nervous before.

“Hey…” I said, leaning in and putting an arm around her. “Maybe it’s just porn?”

She blinked, then cracked a pained smirk. “Oh, god…” She was half laughing, half crying. “You’re the worst.” She leaned in and buried her face in my chest. I kissed the top of her head and pulled her close. This whole thing was surreal for me; I couldn’t imagine what was going through Naomi’s mind.

She looked up at me and started to say something when the TV blared.

“ _ The Perfect Wife Program! _ ” A loud movie-trailer voice read off the cheesy 80s-style title that faded onto the screen. Generic background muzak faded in; a slight warble in the old tape’s tracking gave it an eerie sound.

The title image faded into a generic, windowless office, where a grey-suited man was sitting at a comically large oak desk.

“ _ Welcome! We here at Perfect Wife Inc. are happy you’ve chosen to subscribe to our full Platinum Service. We’re confident this new program will bring our trusted brand into the future, with all the technology the 1980s will have to offer! _ ”

Now the nameless suit was walking through a busy office, grinning and continuing his pitch.

“ _ Our clients are realists, practical men who know times are changing. Women now have a more prominent role at work and at home. Why, just take Susan here. _ ” He gestured to a woman typing at a table behind him. She looked more like a porn star than a secretary, with huge tits, heavy makeup and blown-out platinum hair. “ _ Sharp as a tack and cute as a button! _ ”

“ _ I can do anything a man can do! _ ” The blonde mugged to the camera, delivering her lines in a stilted, high-pitched voice. “ _ Why would I stay at home? _ ”

“ _ That’s right, Suzie! _ ” The man patted her head gently.

“Christ, where did they dig up that bimbo?” Naomi muttered. I didn’t say it, but I was starting to suspect we’d already seen how Perfect Wife Inc. recruited.

“ _ But just because the world is changing, that doesn’t mean you can’t still have what every man wants. _ ” The screen did a hacky, harp-scored d issolve to a generic 1950’s kitchen. The narrator and Suzie appeared with a cartoon ‘pop.’

“ _ With the new Perfect Wife program, you have all the tools you need to build the family of your dreams! _ ” The narrator snapped his fingers and Suzie was suddenly a retro, pin-up housewife—a technicolor model that would have looked right at home in any Nick at Nite rerun.

“ _ But mister, _ ” Suzie cooed. “ _ Won’t I get bored with this big brain? _ ”

“Oh, fuck…” Naomi sat upright, just putting together what I’d already feared.

“ _ No worries, missy. We’ll take care of that! _ ” The narrator winked at the camera. “ _ Now, we’ve been keeping you at home waiting long enough. Be sure you’ve read all the included instructions. And, as always, our customer service team can assist you if any glitches arise! _ ”

The narrator and Suzie faded out, replaced with bold text on a black background:

_ PROGRAM START _

“What did we just watch?” Naomi asked. “And what’s that awful tone?”

“What tone?” I looked over at her, expecting her to be in tears after all that, maybe even furious. Instead, she was staring blankly ahead at the screen, mouth slightly ajar. “Hey, Earth to Naomi. You doing ok?”

Then I heard the tone, too. It sounded like a broadcast test pattern run through a wah-wah pedal. Whatever that sound was, it was just barely audible to my ears.

The hum from the TV got louder, and instantly Naomi’s shoulders went slack, her head bobbing to stay upright.

I was suddenly concerned something was seriously wrong with her. Was it possible to shock yourself into a seizure? Or maybe she’d gone catatonic?

I leaned forward to turn off the TV, to kill that maddening noise, when the picture switched. It took me a moment to make out what I was seeing: a warmly lit, out-of-focus close up of....

“ _ Listen… _ ”

The tone was still blaring, but there was a soft, strong voice talking over it now.

“ _ Listen… _ ”

A woman. It was a woman talking at us.

“ _ Listen to my voice. Feel good to listen to my voice. _ ” It had a sultry, almost melodic intonation. But it was somehow… off [ [d] ](https://docs.google.com/document#bookmark=id.3znysh7) .

I leaned back, glanced over at my spaced-out girlfriend, and watched.

“ _ You feel good. _ ” The picture drifted into focus and zoomed out slowly. “ _ You are good girl. _ ”

The woman on screen was Asian, traditional looking but stunningly beautiful. She wore some kind of silk robe and sat kneeling, staring straight at the camera.

“ _ You like being good girl, _ ” the woman continued. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Naomi nod ever so slightly.

“ _ You want be BEST girl. _ ” It was the accent—that’s what was off. The pseudo-Geisha talking to us had the same accent as Junko.

“ _ You need man to be best girl. All good girls have good man. _ ” Again, I saw Naomi nod along with the instructor. “ _ Good girl need good man. You say this. _ ”

From her trance, Naomi whispered: “Good girl need good man.”

“ _ You get good man by being loyal. You get good man by doing as asked. _ ”

Naomi continued repeating the woman’s words softly. I stared at her in awe. Some lizard part of my brain noticed her nipples were hard, visible through her shirt.

“ _ You give him family. You fuck him for family. _ ”

I jumped a little. Even after all this, I was struck by the word ‘fuck’ coming out of this proper lady’s mouth. Naomi didn’t seem fazed.

“I fuck him for family.” She moaned then, her eyes fluttered, and her hips twitched slightly.

“ _ You want to be good girl. Tell the good man this, _ ” the woman purred.

Naomi turned to me with some distant lucidity in her eyes and said in a voice I’ll never forget: “I want to be your good girl.”

All I could muster was a slight smile and nervous chuckle.

The picture on the TV faded to black, and the tone cut off. In big block letters, it said:

_ PART 1 COMPLETE. PAUSE HERE. _

I snapped out of it and pressed eject on the tape.

Almost immediately, Naomi was back, shaking her head. “What… what did they do to my mother?”

I turned back, tape in hand. She looked up at me with a pained expression.

“Wh-what? I mean…” I stammered.

“Ryan, how did they change her? It doesn’t make any sense!” Naomi picked herself up and started looking over the papers strewn across the floor.

“Well...” I chose my next words very carefully. “Let’s go over what we saw. Did you notice anything… anything strange?”

Naomi threw her hands up in exasperation. “It’s all strange! But infomercial Ken and Barbie just trailed off there. Just, ‘We make bimbo housewives through 80s computer magic,’ then what?”

She didn’t remember the tone or the woman instructing her.

I wish I could claim ignorance, that I didn’t know exactly what was happening. But I knew it was wrong, that Naomi was being hypnotized, or brainwashed, or… something bad.

But I couldn’t stop thinking of her heavy breathing. Of the pure obedience in her face when she told me she wanted to be my ‘good girl.’

So I stood next to my girlfriend and played dumb.

“Maybe there’s more on this tape. We could have missed something,” I said with a slight shrug.

Naomi sighed. “I suppose that’s our best lead.” She looked around the room and at the late afternoon sun. “We should clean up this stuff before my mom comes home. I… I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”

“You want to play dumb for now?” I said, setting down the tape and scooping up the papers on the floor.

“Not funny,” Naomi replied with some ice in her voice. “But yeah. I need to process this first.”

When we had gotten the attic office back into presentable shape, Naomi locked it back up and walked me down to the front door. I was expected back home for dinner, and I was doubtful I could keep my composure around Junko after everything we’d just seen.

“Are you sure you’re going to be ok tonight?” I asked Naomi while we were hugging goodbye.

“Yeah, I need some time to myself to process this anyway. Thanks for helping today, and for not freaking out over all this shit.” She looked up at me with an exhausted half-smile. “You know, my mom’s right about one thing. ‘You good man, Mister Ryan!’”

She kissed my cheek and gently pushed me out the door.

“And you’re a good girl,” I said absentmindedly as I backed away.

I don’t know why I said it, but for a split second, Naomi shivered. Her eyes fluttered back with bliss.

“Thank you,” she whispered, then bowed slightly and closed the door.


	2. The Line Begins to Blur - Late June 1999

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and Naomi find a lead on the mysterious "Perfect Wife" service, but at the cost of their own free will.

Sneaking around wasn’t something I was good at.

I’d gotten drunk once. It was some post-track meet party, and someone had handed me a Jack and Coke. I’d spent most of the night playing video games in a side room, trying not to throw up from the awful taste. To be honest, most of that night was a blur.

My clearest memory was trying, and failing, to act nonchalant. I’d puked as soon as I’d walked through my front the door, mostly from the fear that my parents would catch me stumbling in so late.

Playing it cool was not my strength.

“You’re absolutely, positively sure she’s at the gym all afternoon?” I was keeping my voice low while Naomi led me into her foyer.

“HEY, MOM!” Naomi screamed, cupping her hand to her mouth for effect. “RYAN AND I ARE GOING TO DO CRACK IF YOU WANT TO JOIN!”

I flinched a bit, but the silence proved her point. We were totally alone in the house.

“Point made,” I said, slipping off my shoes.

“You turn red so easily.” Naomi chuckled. “Seriously, your ears look like they’re on fire.”

“Hardy-har-har. I’m glad you’re taking this seriously.”

She led me down the hall to the computer room, more of a nook just off the kitchen. Unlike the attic, it was immaculately staged. Not a hint of dust or clutter.

It was also totally exposed. If someone were to walk through the front door, we’d have seconds before our cover was blown.

“So, if she comes home early…?” I dragged a kitchen chair next to the monitor.

“If she comes home early, I’ll just yank out the power cable before she can see anything.” Naomi sat at the keyboard and flicked on the screen.

“It’s a laptop, though.” I pointed at the closed black Gateway docked on the table. “You pull the plug, and nothing will happen.”

“Then I’ll turn off the screen. Keep it cool, Mr. Privacy.” She was already connecting. The modem started its mechanical cry of life as she logged in.

* * *

Naomi was fixated on the screen, waiting for the browser to load. I found myself entranced by her in at that moment. Even now, years later, I can picture her clearly.

She was slightly hunched, with a familiar sharp determination in her eye. It was the look she had when she ran the final sprint of track or buckled down to solve an AP calc problem.

Naomi’s outfit was one of her staples, something I’d seen her wear countless times senior year. A loose black tank with some white squiggly lines and Japanese characters. She’d once told me it was an album cover, but I couldn’t remember the name for the life of me. Her black sports bra was visible from the side but not enough to be scandalous. Just comfortable.

I’d figured out she favored the most restrictive, compressing bras out of practicality. The couple of times I’d seen her without one, her profile was impractically top-heavy. I’m sure some kids would have accused her of implants, especially after seeing her mother.

Her jeans were ripped, partly by design and partly from wear. They were probably just old Levis from Macy’s, but she filled them out preposterously well. She wore those jeans almost every day to school, but I’d only ever noticed her after my friend Aaron had asked if I thought she was cute enough to bring along to prom. To be fair, Naomi hadn’t ever been seen as a “hottie” in our school; that honor went to the cheerleaders and Clueless-wannabe cliques of blonde rich girls.

Since we’d started dating, I’d seen Naomi use her mirror exactly once to apply some dark eyeliner before heading out to the battle of the bands the week after finals. Her idea of dressed up was smoky eyes and a thrift-shop jacket that looked like some punk had donated it after finding Jesus. It was covered with buttons and patches for bands I didn’t know.

Naomi was effortlessly hot back then. It’s my last memory of the ‘old’ her, one I still come back to often.

* * *

I didn’t know what I’d expected when Naomi told me she’d found something about Perfect Wife Inc. online, but I certainly didn’t anticipate the site she pulled up.

“Alt Mind Control Sluts?” I read from the page header.

“I’ve been searching around, and AMCS has a ton of information on hypnosis and brainwashing.” Naomi seemed unfazed by the pornographic banner image of a woman with cartoon swirly-circles for eyes drooling over an impossibly large penis.

“But this is… this is porn.” I’d looked around the web—nervously, furtively—on occasion, but I’d only gotten as far as Playboy and some edited nudes of Sarah Michelle Gellar. This was a whole different level.

“Well, yeah. Some if it’s porn…” She scrolled through the forum, looking for one in particular. “But ya know… it’s pretty tame.”

From the titles of topics alone, I had to disagree.

“Ahh, here we go. It’s linked somewhere in here.” Naomi clicked through to the discussion page and began reading out the top message.

> LOOKING FOR VID OF HYPNOTIZED GIRL
> 
> Saw a few years ago on tape. Busty blonde—easily DD cup—looking into the camera and talking dirty like she’s hypnotized. It’s not like normal dirty talk, it’s all about how badly she wants to be a dumb housewife. Begs to get knocked up by a huge cock.
> 
> Ends with POV blowjob and facial.
> 
> HOT AS FUCK.
> 
> Anyone have a copy they can share???

I shifted in my chair behind Naomi. Just hearing her read out the title had gotten me hard. I felt somewhat guilty, but really, how could I not get horny with my girlfriend showing me porn?

“Now, which one was it?” Naomi turned to me. If I’d been red earlier, I must have looked like I was close to a heart attack by then. But she didn’t even blink, let alone joke about it.

“I watched a bunch of these last night after you left. There’s a bunch of links, and I can’t remember which one…” She looked mildly guilty. “That’s… that’s ok, right? I mean, it’s just research? You’re not weirded out? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head. “No, totally cool. I’m impressed you could wade through all this stuff.”

Naomi gave a small snort. “Like I said, it’s all pretty tame. It’s not like… really porn, ya know?”

I didn’t, but I nodded anyway.

In the first link, it was immediately clear it was some hardcore stuff. A blonde with implants was getting screwed doggy-style. No talking, no point-of-view, just screwing. I expected Naomi to close the video out after a few seconds.

“I’m going to let it play… just in case it’s the one I was looking for near the end.” She said it under her breath, mostly to herself. I didn’t object.

So Naomi went through a dozen videos. None of them really matched the description, but she watched each to the end. After the second video, I noticed she was shifting in her seat, obviously turned on and half-grinding. By the tenth, she’d begun to absentmindedly rub herself over her jeans. At some point, she’d started muttering along with the women in the videos, letting out barely audible moans when the men climaxed.

The whole time, I sat behind her rock-hard and flushed, not wanting to break her fixation.

The last link she opened was different, though. It wasn’t a video at all but a bunch of bulleted text.

The URL was “archive.perfectwifeglobal.html/index,” and it was a list of files and folders. Most of them were red with strikethrough, but one was stuck out in bold black:

HomeReBoot.html

“Oh, yeah!” Naomi giggled a little. "It wasn’t a video! Oopsie.”

“You forgot it wasn’t a video?” I asked, dumbfounded.

Naomi ignored the question and double clicked on the HomeReBoot file. A new window opened up, just random characters and scrambled text.

“Did you open it in the right program?” I leaned forward and squinted. The text was scrolling down, but it was still just gibberish.

“Mmhm.” Naomi had taken her hands off the keyboard and had begun rubbing herself again. “This is the right program for good girls…”

The text started to blur by. I couldn’t look away.

“And I’m a good girl…” Naomi sounded miles away.

There was a pattern I could almost make out. It was nearly strobe-like, flashing shapes too fast to discern...

* * *

_Naomi is seated and I’m standing behind her. I’m bending down and kissing her deeply while she plays with herself. I’m cupping her tits, working my hands below her bra to feel her hard nipples. My cock is pressing through my shorts, up against her back. Porn is playing on the computer loudly. Naomi seems to be breathing in time with the woman on screen._

* * *

_I’m holding Naomi down and she’s smiling up at me, licking her lips. Her jeans are half off, and I can see her red underwear, totally soaked through. I’m instructing her… about... something… telling her how dirty and perverted she is. She twitches her hips each time I call her a name. “Slut. Whore.” She begs me to make her a good girl. I tell her I will, and she moans with pleasure. I pull my cock out and she grins at it and licks it and I can’t think anymore and she takes me deeper and I want to fill her cunt and I tell her and she moves faster._

* * *

_Junko is home, looking down at us; two teenagers half naked and in heat. She unpacks her groceries and asks us how our day’s been. Naomi answers in a light, childish voice about how I’d promised to make her a good girl. I ignore Junko and begin fingering her daughter through her wet panties. They talk more, but I don’t pay attention. I slip down the red cloth and taste the writhing slut beneath me. Naomi comes loudly. Junko asks me to stay for dinner._

* * *

_We eat pork chops. I’m wearing a clean shirt, and Naomi’s freshly showered. Naomi and I sit across from Junko and Naomi’s little sister. We talk about school and movies. We laugh and smile and everyone’s happy. Everything is wholesome, warm, fuzzy. The mashed potatoes are great._

* * *

I shuddered in the night air, snapping back into awareness. I caught myself mid-step and nearly face-planted on the concrete road.

It took a few minutes to get my bearings. It was dark out, and my watch said it was 10 PM. As I sat on the curb halfway back to my house, I tried to remember what had happened.

It came back in bits and pieces, not all of which made sense. The last thing I was certain of was watching Naomi look though those videos… then she opened that strange text file.

I walked into my house in a daze. The surreality of the situation was still washing over me. I had these moments in my head, but they all seemed cloudy. More like daydreams than true memories. Already they had started to fade and bleed together, making it difficult to maintain any certainty of what exactly had happened all afternoon.

From the living room, my parents laughed at a Seinfeld rerun. I called out to them, giving some vague excuse about a headache and heading straight up to my room.

The second I closed my bedroom door, I dialed Naomi from the cordless I’d grabbed on my way upstairs. Only when I had one digit left to press did it occur to me Naomi may not pick up. I could get Junko.

What could I say if that happened? “Hey, sorry I might have been screwing your daughter on the kitchen floor earlier. Oh, and dinner was great.”

My finger hovered over the button for a moment. I held my breath and dialed with a silent prayer.

Naomi picked up after the third ring, and my heart started again.

“Hey, Ryan!” She sounded… bubbly.

“Naomi, I… I don’t remember what happened.” I was off balance again; there was no worry in her voice.

“Huh. What do you mean?” She sounded distracted.

“I mean I don’t remember anything after we saw that Perfect Wife site.” I flopped down on my bed, exhausted. “And… I do actually remember a little. Like… making out, or more...”

She giggled and said something inaudible to someone in person on the other end of the line. So maybe she was just faking this attitude?

“Naomi, are you ok? Is your mother in the room?” I asked.

“What—oh, yeah. One second.” Naomi put her hand over the receiver. I could faintly hear her calling goodnight to her mother and walking up to her room. It seemed like time was moving at half speed, and after a small eternity Naomi popped back on the line, sounding just as cheerful as before.

“Okay, Ryan, you’ve got me all to yourself.” She giggled again.

“Naomi… I’m really worried.” Part of me wanted to just launch into everything, from the trance state in the attic to the fading X-rated vignettes from today. But I was starting to question what I actually remembered, and Naomi’s blissed-out attitude was disarming.

“I… I’m worried about that site. I think it could have messed with our heads. I can’t remember… much.” I struggled to find the words without sounding crazy. But this whole thing was crazy.

“Ryan…Y-you—” Naomi stuttered for a moment, then paused. The voice that came back was clear and familiar. “You’re right. Something’s really wrong. It’s like I can’t get my brain to think straight.”

I breathed in relief. She believed me, and I wasn’t just losing my mind.

“I think we need to be careful going forward.” I sat up and started searching for a pen and paper amid the clutter of the room. “I’m going to get an expert to look at the site. Don’t visit it yourself. Maybe just stay off the computer for a bit, until we know what Perfect Wife can do.”

We made a plan. Naomi’s words were quick and pointed. I heard the gears turning as we talked. She would be on recon with her mother, no more internet stuff. I’d do some digging online but avoid opening or watching anything suspicious. We’d keep each other posted by phone and email and stay vigilant for any odd behavior.

“God, Ryan, this is unreal,” Naomi said after we’d hashed out the details. “I just want you to know I really appreciate you not freaking out and running away from all this. I—I love you.”

In spite of all the madness, I felt a warm, fuzzy relief to hear her say that.

“I love you, too,” I said, grinning ear to ear.

“Goodnight, Ryan.”

“Goodnight, Naomi.”

I hung up, still buzzing. It was late, but I was wide awake and restless. My parents had gone to bed, so I slunk downstairs and booted up the PC.

I was going to be careful. I just needed to look at that AMCS site again.

_For research_ , I swore to myself.

I made my way back to the same forum post, to the same link, to the Perfect Wife index page.

But it was gone. The directory was empty. All the red-strikethrough links were gone, along with the strange HTML page. Now there was just one file.

> PerfectWife_FullProgram.ghost

I clicked the link and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug warning:  
> You can read ahead and support the author by getting a fancy, full version of the story so far!  
> "Pretty Fate Machine - Book 1" by John Hale is available on Smashwords and Amazon


	3. Further Down the Spiral - July 1999

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At a dead end in their one lead, Ryan decides to break radio silence with Naomi and finds they may have less time than he hoped.

“It’s too big, it won’t fit. I told you this would be painful, but you’ve got a one-track mind.”

I leaned back in my chair, not ready to give up yet. “I can’t stop now, I’m close. It’s right in front of me, if I could just…”

Aaron cut me off. “It’s not happening with your internet connection. You’re trying to download a full disk image, almost a gig, over a 56k connection. The server will keep timing out… Hell, I’m surprised you can connect at all.”

Two weeks of searching online for Perfect Wife Inc. and this was all I had. A ghost… or to be more specific a .ghost disk image file. I had no idea what the hell it was or how I could open it. That’s why Aaron, my old debate club partner and class ‘hacker,’ was on the phone with me.

“Are you sure you can’t just come over and walk me through this in person? I can’t talk and browse; my house only has one line.” I glanced down at the notes I’d made so far and already knew I was lost. “How do I even install the FTP? Just bike over here.”

“No can do, good buddy.” I heard Aaron typing away while he talked. “House arrest. You know that.”

He was exaggerating, but not by much. After accessing some teacher’s personal documents on the school network, he’d been suspended and grounded. Aaron didn’t even walk at graduation; he got his diploma mailed after some community service.

“So how do I download it? Can you do it for me? I could swing by and pick it up…” I was desperate.

“Nope. You’re going to need a T1 line if you want to snag that baby.”

“And where do I find one of those?”

“Not in Bedford. We’re not wired for fiber. Closest one is…” He stopped typing. “Hey, aren’t you going to State this fall?”

…

Over the last few weeks, while I was doing my online research, Naomi was gathering intel on her mother. She was still too freaked out by the whole situation to straight up ask her mom, so she’d started spending quality time with Junko. I’d been concerned it would seem out of character, blowing her chance at keeping a low profile, but Naomi was insistent.

“Ryan, she asks me to go with her to the salon every day,” Naomi had explained over the phone when we’d been discussing our plans. “I never thought I’d be glad she didn’t get the hint after the thousandth time. And if I so much as hint at wanting to go shopping, she’s got her purse out and the car running.”

I was glad to finally spent some time with her in person. We’d mostly been talking over the phone, though with all the time I was trying to eke out with the modem, our communication had been uncomfortably sparse this last week.

I was picking up Naomi at her house. It was a 90-minute drive to State, but it seemed like our only shot at getting that file. My parents’ car was a manual, so Naomi would be riding shotgun both ways. I nervously put the transmission in neutral and rolled down the driver’s side window, letting in the cool morning breeze. I stared off into the sky, blue and cloudless.

“Heeey Brian!”

I didn’t even recognize the voice at first. Across the lawn, I saw someone waving from the front door of Naomi’s house.

“Ok, mom! Love ya!” The figure ducked back in and emerged with a picnic basket. She crossed the lawn toward the car. Her white and red floral sundress was shifting slightly with the breeze, still clinging to her figure in all the right spots.

Was this some friend of Naomi’s who’d decided to tag along? My brain still wasn’t catching up to what I was seeing. I got out of the car to meet this bubbly, tanned girl.

It wasn’t until she reached the curb, just feet away from me, that I realized who was greeting me.

“N-Naomi?” My shock did nothing to temper her enthusiasm.

“Oh, Ryan!” She ran right over, throwing her arms around me. The picnic basket’s wicker scratched across my back, catching my shirt.

“Oops!” She immediately began checking the fabric for snags. “I’m so sorry! I’ve been such a silly klutz lately!”

“Naomi.” I gently grabbed both her hands, trying to get her focus.

“Yes, Ryan?” She looked up at me, squinting in the sun. Her smile was wide, with just a hint of the normal old smirk that had been her trademark throughout high school. Her makeup and hair were impeccable; no goth-heavy eyeliner, no streak of blue dye. She looked like she’d stepped out of an Abercrombie poster.

“You look… really different?” I said, still drinking her in.

“Aww, do you like?” She pulled back slightly, still holding my hands, and spun side to side. “My mom and I went shopping this week. I know it’s not what I normally wear, but if I’ve got to go undercover, I might as well have some fun! Right?!”

She giggled and leaned in for a kiss. I swear to god, she pulled up her right heel slightly when our lips touched like some giddy school girl swooning.

“Are you feeling alright?” I pulled back slightly, confused and concerned about this new attitude and look. Was this the Perfect Wife program? It seemed impossible that she could have changed so radically with just that one viewing.

“Oh…” Naomi bit her lip and looked down, genuinely crestfallen at my lack of enthusiasm. “You don’t like it? I thought I’d look pretty for you.”

“No, no, god, no,” I stammered. “You look amazing! It’s just really, really different. I didn’t even recognize you when you first came outside.”

“Really? You think I look amazing?” I nodded in response, and Naomi giggled and clapped. “Yay! I hoped you’d like it!”

“But… are you feeling like yourself?” I picked up the picnic basket and opened the passenger door for her. Whatever was in there smelled delicious. “Did you… did you bake?”

“Well, of course, silly!” she said, sliding into the car and smoothing out her dress to avoid wrinkles. “You’ve been so, so helpful these last few weeks! Doing all the hard work, being so thoughtful and caring! The least I could do is make some cookies for my strong, smart boyfriend!”

“Right…” I closed her door, set the basket in the back seat and got behind the wheel. I know I should have pushed the issue, tried to argue against her gleeful acceptance… but this was too much to process rationally. I didn’t know where to begin, so I just started driving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug warning:  
> You can read ahead and support the author by getting a fancy, full version of the story so far!  
> "Pretty Fate Machine - Book 1" by John Hale is available on Smashwords and Amazon


End file.
